


Morale

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Oral Sex, Other, Robot Sex, Robots, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultra Magnus wants to remedy his "negative effect on unit morale." Wheeljack is the hardest to please and thus requires special efforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morale

The discontentment among the group was palpable. Normally, Ultra Magnus cared little for his soldiers’ opinions of him so long as they functioned as a successful unit. However, with such a small group of warriors that had clearly bonded before he seized command, his intervention in their lives was visibly disrupting.

Their relationship with him always seemed to simmer just below a flame and while Ultra Magnus knew he could easily command their respect, he was far from achieving their devotion. After seeking council with his leader, he confessed that he believed his command style to be having a “negative effect on unit morale.”

Optimus assured him that his services to Team Prime were highly valued, but continued on to explain that they were not the Elite Guard. His leader’s wisdom was always absolute. If Optimus Prime believed that dropping the formalities and forging a more personable relationship with the team would be beneficial to their cause, the lieutenant would readily oblige.

He believed being less rigid, perhaps even complimentary at times, could mend the others’ perception of him in time. However, there was one amongst their group who would be nigh impossible to convince—Wheeljack.

Ultra Magnus knew the Wrecker’s feelings about his particular authority and how it had, in his opinion, destroyed the unity amongst his Wrecker partners. He believed that Magnus had turned a team of closely banded friends into inflexible soldiers. Wheeljack had abandoned his comrades for this very reason, wanting to remember them as they were and not as their new command had shaped them.

That was a pretty difficult history to overlook, regardless of its truth. In Wheeljack’s optics, Magnus had robbed him of something precious. Though the Wrecker tolerated Magnus’ lead for the good of their cause, at this point, it was a near futile attempt to win back his favor.

Tensions were especially high this week after Wheeljack’s relationship with Bulkhead turned rocky for the literally same reasons that had jarred the Wreckers all those years ago. No wonder Wheeljack was upset with the commander. Everything Magnus had done since he had arrived in the base had proved his perception of him _right_.

Wheeljack was a special case. Therefore, Magnus’ simple change of leadership methods could not be expected to yield immediate results, if it would ever yield any results at all. Instead, a personal and deliberate effort needed to be made.

Centuries of by-the-book command and wartime experience had made earning respect from numerous fleets effortless. However, Magnus’ character was not at the debate of a fleet, but at the judgment of one. The commander suddenly found that the idea of casual, one on one conversation seemed much more difficult than he recalled.

Magnus hadn’t needed to feign confidence since he was in triple digits, but now, he was out of his element. Still, albeit for a commander not to do everything in his power for the good of his soldiers. Gathering the best composure he could muster, he approached the Wrecker while he was tinkering with his ship.

“Something wrong with your ship, soldier?”  
  
“No, Sir, just tunin’ her up. Helps me clear my head.”  
  
The _Sir_ , of course, was forced, as it had been from day one. Magnus suspected it was likely the first time Wheeljack ever had to address anyone with that title and it looked like it always tasted bitter to him. Moreover, the part about clearing his head hinted largely at his current frustration with Bulkhead and, by extension, the commander.

“You find repairing ships relaxing?”

The question was innocent enough, but perhaps it was said with the wrong inflection. Magnus had intended it as a way to show interest and keep the conversation going but it likely came off as pejorative. Wheeljack halted his work, lowering his wrench and narrowing his optics, like Magnus’ presence was physically suffocating him.  
  
“Among other things.”

“What other things do Wreckers do for…”

For fun? Magnus couldn’t bring himself to say it. Any way he did would sound like he was mocking him. Why should a military leader be asking about _fun_ when frivolity had always been so heavily discouraged in his unit? Clearing his throat discretely, Magnus instead tried, “…for recreation?”

Wheeljack quirked an opticbrow. Instead of viewing Magnus’ attempt at conversation as friendly, he found it suspicious. The Wrecker responded with a great deal of skepticism at his sudden interest in him.

“Wreckers don’t get much free time,” Wheeljack stated after an overly long pause. He promptly turned his attention back to his ship, tightening a bolt. He was deciding whether or not he wanted to end the conversation there but then thought better of it, adding, “But when we do: throw the old lobbing ball around, drag race down highways, interface.”

Magnus had been so caught off guard by the last listing that the captain in him took over once again. With little attempt to hide the horror in his voice he questioned, “You interface outside of your heat cycle?”

“You only interface _on_ your heat cycle?” Wheeljack responded with the same twinge of disapproval he had just been given.

It was truly a rare individual who could stun Ultra Magnus into silence. A well-intentioned effort at socializing had quickly backfired into yet another way of emphasizing their differences.

Before Magnus could correct his error, Wheeljack seemed to give up on their little chit-chat all together, dropping all niceties and shrugging him off, “Mm, everyone’s different. Wouldn’t expect you to approve of a Wrecker’s idea of a good time anyway.”

Obviously, handing Wheeljack another reason to be irritated with him was not why Magnus had approached him. Things were evidently not going as planned, so the commander supposed honesty was the best policy. Switching the subject, he admitted, “It has been made clear to me that as a leader I have been…unnecessarily strict.”

For the moment Wheeljack’s attention had been recaptured, if only to give Magnus a sarcastic expression of _really, I hadn’t noticed._ But at least he had given up on turning the bolt he was using to distract himself, so that was progress.

“I have been made aware of the fact that my command style with the Elite Guard does not translate well to leading Team Prime. I now understand that a smaller squadron requires more personable guidance.”

Wheeljack was listening, but only partially believing. His wariness was not unwarranted; after all, Magnus’ change in attitude was incredibly sudden. It also didn’t erase how he had chosen to lead his fellow Wreckers in the past. Where was this attitude then?

Quite aware that the truth of his words was currently being weighed, Magnus stood up straighter with his hands behind his back. With his best attempt at professionalism and confidence he continued, “In an effort to remedy my mistake I am willing to sample some of your recreational preferences…to increase morale.”

“Morale, huh?” Wheeljack huffed, turning away from his ship to face the commander fully. The Wrecker was unconventional but he was far from unintelligent. He was approaching the situation with due caution and responded by folding his arms across his chestplate. Testing the commander’s sincerity he asked, “Well, take your pick, Chief: lobbing or racing?”  
  
“Interfacing. If…that is alright.”

Now it was Wheeljack’s turn to be stunned into silence. However, he recovered much more quickly than Magnus had and responded with an even tone, “Don’t wanna drag you outside of your comfort zone.”

It had already been established where the two bots stood on this subject. Magnus understood that his choice seemed beyond logic, considering his personal policies. So, once again, honesty was best, “I sense the other two options would not impress you as much.”

At last, a statement Wheeljack could appreciate. For the first time since their conversation had started, his lips curled upward in a smirk. Now, it seemed, they were communicating on a level they both could understand.

Magnus elaborated, “I am genuine in my desire to be in your favor. The opinion you hold of commanders makes you the hardest to please, and you seem the type to think that actions speak louder than words.”

“You got that right,” Wheeljack confirmed, “Well, if you’re really up for it, I’m in. I think the storage room is free now.”

Magnus was startled by the immediacy in which he was called upon to make good on his offer, but delaying it would only cause Wheeljack to doubt his intentions. With the stoicism of a true commanding officer, Magnus simply nodded and followed the Wrecker into the privacy of the base.

 

-

 

The room that the Autobots used for storage was not in their main base of Warehouse E. Instead, Warehouse C had been chosen because of its convenient location next to the road, making it ideal for unloading and loading cargo.

The room was never occupied except for when the bots needed to store or retrieve something specific. On a day such as this one where most of the team was out on harmless scouting missions, it was not going to be used.

Wheeljack pulled down the large, sliding garage door behind them. The room was wide and hollow, not divided by any interior walls. Lined against the farthest wall from the entrance were their collected relics, supplies, processed energon, and various spare parts. Other than that, its center was spacious and empty.

“It’s not cozy, but it’s private,” Wheeljack noted casually.

Magnus remained silent, still standing with the stance of a captain in the center of the warehouse. He had been fearless on the front lines but couldn’t recall ever being quite this tense. Interfacing, in his experience, had always been a means to alleviate a symptom, not an offhand means of entertainment.

Wheeljack came to stand in front of Ultra Magnus who stared at him in awkward silence. The commander considered Wheeljack to be a greater authority on casual interfacing than himself so, like he had in his lower-ranking days, he awaited instruction.

However, actions that would have demonstrated respect in the military were lost on the Wrecker. Placing his servos on his hips, Wheeljack eyed him oddly, his smirk returning,

“Well, unless you want to do this standing, Sir.”

Magnus caught his faux pas and nodded slightly, lowering himself to the warehouse floor. Wheeljack followed suit, kneeling before him.

“So, I’m gonna take a guess here,” Wheeljack announced, shifting on his knees until he was comfortable, “When you interface, I’ll bet you’re very to-the-point, right? No messin’ around first.”

“An accurate assumption,” Magnus grudgingly confirmed through clenched denta. He didn’t know that the prelude to their joining would entail delving into his own history of intimacy, which he was reluctant to share.

“Well, Wreckers don’t play that way. Like to draw it out, you know?”

Magnus lay recumbently on his back with his pedes flat on the floor and his legs pressed together. He supported his upper body on an elbow, keeping both optics on the bot before him, trying to calculate the correct course of action in these uncharted waters. More silence ensued.

Wheeljack tapped on one of the commander’s knees with a solitary digit, “You gonna let me in, Chief?”

Right, right. Magnus was letting his protocol get the best of him. Delicately, he let his legs spread open. Before he was made to look even more inexperienced than he was already appearing, he retracted his interface panel. That much he knew.

Magnus let his elbow relinquish its support of him so he lay flat, staring directly at the ceiling, “So, when you say ‘draw it out’—“

A hot, wet glossa swiping over his exterior node thoroughly answered his question.

Magnus reflexively jolted and Wheeljack had to still him with a servo to his hip. Not wanting to give him too much too fast, Wheeljack simply flattened his glossa onto the sensitive little bundle of receptors, closing his lips around it to let the commander adjust.

Never had Magnus received this sort of…attention. Anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary for cooling a heat cycle had been dismissed. Now, he found himself at the mercy of a Wrecker who had very different methods than what he was used to. Magnus did everything he could to restrain his voice.

After a few seconds, Wheeljack began tasting downwards. He licked into the folds in slow, open-mouthed kisses until he reached the commander’s entrance which was unsurprisingly tight from neglect. Gently, he introduced a probing glossa into the tiny hole, letting it dart inwards and out, waking up the first ring of inner nodes and sending shivers down the commander’s spinal column.

Magnus shifted his pelvis and Wheeljack’s servo grasped his hip harder, disallowing him from participating until the Wrecker was ready for him to do so. When Magnus began to tremble, however, Wheeljack courteously returned to his previous rhythm of licking into his folds, fairly skilled at lapping up any transfluids before they had the chance to run down his aft.

The commander’s dominant, professional state of mind was slowly being clouded by the effects of physical stimulation. Before he lost himself all together, he pressed a servo to Wheeljack’s helm. The Wrecker responded by giving Magnus’ valve an audibly wet suck, tickling his clit with a pert glossa, and then sitting back.

“Bet that was new,” Wheeljack said, smugly wiping his chin on the back of his servo.

Ultra Magnus had done his absolute best to stay quiet, but his responses manifested in other ways. His exhilaration was unintentionally revealed by his hips as they continued to twitch even after Wheeljack’s withdrawal. Not only was it new, but Magnus could count on one, trembling servo how many times he had used in valve for interfacing over the millennia.

“Alright, spike out.”

Magnus blinked his very blue optics in confusion. He had assumed Wheeljack had already chosen which of his interfacing equipment he wanted to engage. Perhaps the differences between their interfacing styles were much vaster than he had anticipated.

Not seconds after Magnus retracted his spike covering, Wheeljack’s glossa was once again at work, circling the head and licking at the slit.

Sure, the Wrecker had the option to take out his long-accumulated frustration with the commander in crueler ways, but it was so much more satisfying to watch By-The-Book-Magnus unravelling at the seams. For once, Wheeljack had the upper hand, coaxing little chirps of hitched voice from the back of his throat.

It was immensely satisfying to watch Magnus try to keep his composure, willing himself not to enjoy it as much as he observably was.

With just the right amount of pressure, Wheeljack gave the base of his shaft a quick squeeze. Then, with learned coordination, Wheeljack began to pump him steadily at the exact same time that he swallowed him down.

“ _Aaah!_ ”

There it was: the first crack in the wall. Magnus bucked upwards and Wheeljack gave him a particularly hard suck before settling back into his rhythm. It already seemed like an eternity since they began and Magnus felt as though he had not spoken for decades. Swallowing hard, the commander finally found the strength to use his voice, “This is…all Wreckers do this? This is typical behavior that you demonstrate frequently?”

Wheeljack pulled off with a wet pop, only slightly annoyed, “The time I take to answer that is time my mouth is off your spike.”

“U-understood.”

“Mm,” Wheeljack grunted, inwardly satisfied at the submissive response to him taking charge.

Resuming his work, Wheeljack supposed that on a certain level he did want to astound the captain since Magnus was letting him take control. Time for his best trick.

With one servo continuously tugging at Magnus’ spike, two digits of Wheeljack’s other servo were steadily pushed into the commander’s valve, all while he calmed the back of his throat enough to swallow Magnus down _deep._

Magnus’ optics rolled shut and his core curled tight, pedes lifting off of the floor. Wheeljack no longer halted the larger bot’s attempts thrust into him, taking it like a champ, throat convulsing. His digits abused the second and even third ring of interior nodes, fingering him at same pleasant speed that he was using to jerk Magnus’ spike.

“ _Primus!_ ” Magnus choked, his voice a desperate noise of suppressed want erupting to the surface.

But Wheeljack couldn’t allow him to spill over. Not yet. Retracting his mouth and both servos, the Wrecker sat up on his knees to admire the sight of the commander all but squirming before him.

This was Ultra Magnus, the very same commander who had caused the disunity of the Wreckers all those years ago. Wheeljack would have been lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly satisfied to see him at his mercy now. Any issue he still had with Magnus could easily be vented by fragging his little hole open, it would be all too easy, but Wheeljack had other ideas.

Magnus had willingly made himself vulnerable in the hope that Wheeljack would think better of him. If the Wrecker wasted this opportunity on an angry frag, he’d set them both back to square one. If Magnus was responsible enough to take the first step towards mending their relationship, Wheeljack could be the bigger bot and at least see what he had to offer.

“Alright, Chief, time to show me what you can do,” Wheeljack growled, voice a little rough from forcibly swallowing around Magnus’ spike.

Magnus sat up tentatively, “What?”

“You said you wanted to impress me,” Wheeljack recalled. Lying on his back, he retracted his own interface panel and spread his legs wide, “So, impress me.”

Wheeljack barely had time to soak up the commander’s reaction before his backside was promptly lifted off the ground. Magnus took hold of the bends of his knees, raising him with strength that momentarily shocked the Wrecker’s haughty smile right off his faceplate.

This was a level of enthusiasm that he had not been expecting. It was surprising, but not unwelcome. Magnus’ optics were blue flames, glossed over with a bodily need, one that was fuelled entirely by Wheeljack’s sudden separation from him. Now, it seemed the commander was only too ready to reconnect.

They locked optics for a split second before Magnus collected himself. In one, steady push, the commander buried the entirety of his length inside of Wheeljack.

The smaller bot winced a bit but adjusted quickly enough for the pain to be minimal. Being more frequent in his interfacing habits allowed his valve to compensate for intrusions more easily. Magnus was _large_ , larger than what he was used to, and it stretched him in a way that Wheeljack decided he liked.

It wasn’t Wrecker-style to expect delicacy and he supposed Magnus had guessed that much. Maybe they were learning to understand each other after all.

Wheeljack shut his optics tight when Magnus withdrew, spike sliding over each and every node from the first ring to the hypersensitive innermost. He arched his upper body off of the hard floor, holding himself upright with one servo on the ground. The other servo he threw around Magnus’ shoulders for stabilization. Magnus slammed into him, making Wheeljack’s metal backside scrape loudly against the cement as they rocked together.

“Oh yeah, Chief, give it to me,” Wheeljack groaned, finding he quite liked the commander’s style. Slower retractions, quicker penetrations, a steady but forceful rhythm that crashed into all the right places and reached sensory receptors he didn’t even know that he had. It was different from the tumbling roughness of the Wrecker-on-Wrecker interfacing that he was used to, but it was by no means gentle enough to bore him.

Magnus had little subtleties that were driving Wheeljack wild. Occasionally, before he would recede, Magnus would circle his hips a few times, grinding into Wheeljack’s frame and nudging _every last node_ before ripping out and continuing with speed enough to compensate for his pause.

It wasn’t long before Wheeljack’s thighs began to tremble, causing Magnus to hoist them up higher. Wheeljack abandoned his hold on the ground, allowing his back to be pressed flat to the floor as the commander fell over him, pumping in and out of him in a way that made the Wrecker toss back his helm.

“Retract your spike covering,” Magnus panted directly into Wheeljack’s audial. Without question, Wheeljack obeyed, and the dominant bot wrapped his digits tightly around him, tugging in a sharp manner that was out of sync with his thrusts.

Going the extra mile was not what Wheeljack had expected from the commander, a bot who rarely deviated from interfacing’s bare minimum. Yet, the way he was stroking him now had Wheeljack’s helm spinning from the additional stimulation.

Neither were restraining their vocals now; lusty moans and quick intakes of air trafficked their throats in constant whines and gasps.

“Don’t hold back,” Wheeljack hummed, rocking his hips in a fashion which shoved his spike up into Magnus’ hand and dropped his valve onto Magnus’ spike. The commander took him up on his offer to abandon control and shoved him even harder into the cement so that Wheeljack’s knees were almost touching the floor on either side of his body.

The extra pressure and speed were exactly what Wheeljack needed to get him there. His spike erupted messily between them, coating his chestplate, abdomen, and Magnus’ servo, which continued to stroke him even after he’d been emptied. His valve spasmed and clenched down hard around Magnus’ spike, setting the commander off to his own blinding pleasure.

Magnus filled Wheeljack beyond capacity with ejaculate made thick from years of accumulation. It flooded down his aft and pooled beneath him before Magnus fully withdrew. When the larger bot finally did retract himself, Wheeljack’s valve dribbled a slow stream which continued to feed the puddle.

Both commander and Wrecker took a few seconds to bask in the afterglow and then a few more to collect themselves. When they finally caught their wind, Magnus met Wheeljack’s blissed out gaze, asking though a grin which he tried to hide but couldn’t quite manage to, “Impressed?”

Ooh, cocky. Maybe Wheeljack was rubbing off on him.

The Wrecker broke into a wide smile and genuinely responded, “Yes, Sir,” without any need to force the title.

Or…perhaps Magnus was rubbing off on _Wheeljack_.

Though the past was not easily forgotten, the future did look promising. Magnus’ willingness to understand a Wrecker’s ways had certainly been a step in the right direction. Who knew? Maybe one day they would learn to tolerate each other, or maybe even like each other.

More recreational activity was required to know for sure.

 

 

-

The End

 


End file.
